Before The Storm
by Parnassus
Summary: Missing scene to 9.19 Alex Annie Alexis Ann: Sam had lost a lot of blood...


**SUMMARY: Missing scene from 9.19 - Set snuggly between Jodi killing "Mama" vamp and the boys standing beside the car, all ready to skedaddle and looking remarkably healthy. _Too _healthy. **

******DISCLAIMER: *Tsk Tsk* Language, language. I also borrowed some stuff from the CW/writers...thanks guys! **

**A/N: Oh come on, you guys didn't think I'd pass up a juicy opportunity to sneak in a little Hurt!Sam now did you? ;) Seriously though...he recovered those lost pints waaay too quickly...standing there all healthy pink cheeks and broad, plaid-clad chest? Nuh-uh. **

**With that said...enjoy my fluffy indulgence! **

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Something felt very wrong. _Too much_. He'd lost too much. He couldn't even think, let alone _see_ straight.

The room tilted and whirled, caught in a nauseating merry-go-round as Dean rushed over, working quickly to free his arms and legs. He was struggling to hold his head up, struggling to form a coherent sentence.

Maybe _they_ were out of danger, but Jodi wasn't and it was their fault she was in this mess. He latched onto that feeling of guilt, used it to force himself to focus.

He needed to remind his brother. Remind Dean of something…something important.

Sam was afraid. _No_. _Scratch that._ He was terrified. He could feel the fear roiling, eating away at his gut like a cancerous disease, choking him with its intensity. Because he'd seen the look in his older brother's eyes. That hollow darkness threatening to swallow the last remnant of his humanity. The sickening gusto and pleasure. That unwitting curl of Dean's lips, just the slightest fraction, before he'd sliced off the vamp's head.

That vacant and almost…_disappointed_ look of finality when it was over.

Worst of all, he knew exactly what that felt like. Knew that intoxicating pleasure: that euphoric, electrifying sensation of power boiling in your blood, coursing through your body, melting your thoughts into poison. The fear that fueled your instincts, hell, kept you human, became irrelevant. Because you were Superman. Goddamn invincible.

No. Dean wasn't afraid anymore.

But Sam was fucking terrified.

That wasn't important just then. They could deal with the issue of Dean's dwindling humanity later. When their friend wasn't about to be ripped limb from limb by redneck bloodsuckers.

Sam forced his twelve-ton eyelids open and inhaled a stuttering breath of air, trying desperately to clear his foggy head.

"Dean…"

It hurt, forcing even that one word out…left him dizzy. It was like trying to talk around a mouthful of cotton coated with peanut butter.

Dean's hands tugged roughly and without ceremony at the duct tape encircling Sam's wrists. Another sharp pull and Sam winced, surprised and a little hurt by his brother's carelessness.

"Yeah, I know," Dean grunted disinterestedly, like he knew what was coming and wanted to get in the first jab. "You wouldn't have done the same for me."

"Wha'...nuh-no," Sam gasped, trying and failing to get his point across. A guilty pang of sorrow caught him off guard, tightened like a fist in his chest. But no, now wasn't the time. "Jodi," he managed through gritted teeth.

Dean's eyes flicked up in mild confusion and a second later his head spun around in alarm. It was as if he'd only just remembered the reason they were there. Without anymore hesitation and a renewed sense of urgency, he gave up tugging in favor of his pocketknife and a moment later the tape was peeling off.

Without the bonds holding his limbs in place, Sam began slumping forward, unable to stop his descent. Dean's hand braced firmly against his chest, saving him from what would assuredly be an awkward fall.

"Can you walk?" Dean's tone was all business. If Sam said he could, _then great – get your ass in gear and let's move_. If he admitted that a tooth-shattering nosedive was far more likely he'd have to endure the indignity of Dean's disappointed glare and a condescending slap on his shoulder ordering him to _stay put. _

He'd risk the nosedive.

"Yeah," he closed his eyes and quickly nodded his head, ignoring the aching throb and increasing urge to puke. He lifted his arms, silently asking for help. Without a word Dean slid his own arm under his brother's shoulders, slowly but efficiently guiding him up.

Sam practically felt the color leech from his face and swallowed down a swell of sickness. He began listing to the side, his head swimming and buzzing, his body searching for its equilibrium. He felt Dean's arm tighten around his waist.

"You good?"

He barely registered the gruff voice. It was little more than a staticy echo of noise fluttering against his eardrums. But he gave a quick jerk of his head, taking a determined step towards the staircase leading down to the basement. Another strangled scream sounded from below and Dean quickened their pace.

He'd have certainly tumbled down the stairs had it not been for Dean's steadying shoulder. Sam leaned heavily, concentrating on keeping his footing as they descended into the gloomy room. Dean's left arm shielded his brother while the right grasped his machete, the once gleaming steel now tainted and tacky with drying blood.

Once they'd made it down Dean took a brief second to steady Sam against the railing before taking a few short steps towards the scene awaiting them.

Jodi stood, bloodied and bruised, holding a handful of the vampire's wild, ginger hair, effectively exposing the skin of her pale neck. The next instant was something of a blur as Jodi swung her weapon and the woman's headless body slumped to the floor. For a moment only Alex's soft sobs filled the emptiness of the room, everyone trying to regain their bearings.

Sam felt his already queasy stomach do a slow roll as he watched the woman's head teeter off into a dark corner, leaving a trail of crimson in its wake. He squeezed his eyes shut, panting raggedly as he sagged over the railing. He heard Dean ask Jodi if she was all right, heard the sheriff's slightly annoyed dismissal…then things got pretty blurry around the edges. He heard a few voices, one in particular tinged with panic, calling his name.

He didn't know exactly when he'd lost his grip, didn't feel himself falling. But he sure as hell felt the violent woosh of air from his lungs as his chest slammed against something. Or rather, something slammed into him…but it wasn't the floor. He realized he was dangling over Dean's arm, the ground swimming below him.

"Sam? You with me?"

_Yes, sir, drill sergeant_. But all he could manage was a painful grunt of acknowledgement. He clumsily felt for Dean's arm and grasped on to it, intending to lever himself back up. Apparently it didn't work out as well as he'd planned because Dean seemed to lose patience, bodily spinning Sam back around and propping him against his hip. Sam couldn't help groaning at the intense jostle of movement.

"…lost a lot…" he heard Dean say. Somehow Sam knew he'd only caught the tail end of that sentence.

"We'll be fine, get him upstairs." Jodi's voice came loud and clear enough, commanding and in control. _Must be a mom thing. _Sam almost snorted and then was nearly sick with the realization of how unfunny that was. He was feeling very…very something. Drunk? _Yeeeaah_…that was it. Drunk. And cold. So friggin' cold. He felt his body give an involuntary shiver.

"Don't pass out on me, man." Dean's voice right next to his ear, quietly urging him. He didn't know if he could make it back up those stairs.

But Dean did most of the work. They only had to stop once for Sam to bend over and catch his breath. Before he even realized they were done climbing, Sam was seated on a wooden chair in the bathroom, a single light bulb shining dully overhead. He glanced down in confusion at his arms, feeling like he should have a better grasp of what was happening to him. Feeling like he should be helping.

The crude plastic tubes the vamps had used to drain him had been inserted hastily and had torn his skin. Blood was still oozing sluggishly from the rather jagged holes in his flesh. There had been no easy way to tear them out.

He hadn't meant to, but Sam thought he must have whimpered or made some equally embarrassing noise because Dean's hand was suddenly cupping the back of his neck. A gentle thumb massaged back and forth just below his hairline while Dean pressed a clean cloth against the bleeding wounds.

"You're good. You're all right."

Dean's voice had lost some of its edge. It wasn't so harsh now - he just sounded tired. Sam was probably imagining it but he thought his brother sounded a little ashamed.

"Jodi…Ah-…Alex..." Sam slurred, every inch of him feeling heavier by the second.

"Will manage just fine," Dean finished before Sam could. "Least 'til I know you're not gonna bleed out. That'd be a helluva waste." The last bit was a barely discernible mutter under Dean's breath. He rose from his crouch to turn on the sink and squeeze out the cloth. Sam touched a finger to one of the clotting holes in his arm, feeling a sort of detached curiosity. His mouth went dry.

"Whoa, hey, Sam? Sammy?" Now Dean was kneeling down in front of him, patting his cheek. "No sleepy-time yet. Gotta get some fluids in you first."

"Not sleepin'," Sam insisted, his head drooping so low his chin was nearly resting on his chest.

"Could've fooled me." Dean quickly set to work cleaning and bandaging Sam's arms. He paused briefly to scoot a plastic lined trashcan a little closer when he noticed Sam swaying in his seat. "Tell me if you feel sick, m'kay?"

"Mmm…m'fine, D'." _Shit_. His words were slithering and sliding over each other. His brain was short-circuiting and snippets of time kept cutting in and out on him. Sam hated not being in control. It was the worst feeling in the world. And he should know.

"I know," Dean's voice was full of bitterness. His fingers shook minutely as he worked. "You and me," he drawled. "We're always fine, huh. Just friggin' fine."

Sam was still trying to process his brother's words when a particularly demanding wave of nausea rolled through him. He moaned miserably and dropped his forehead onto Dean's convenient shoulder, trying to breathe through it.

"D'n," he gagged and swallowed.

"Okay, hang on," Sam heard the gentle scrape of plastic against the wooden floor as Dean nudged the container closer, holding it just below Sam's head. "Fire at will."

Dean didn't seem to mind when Sam blindly grabbed for his shoulder, readily supporting his weight as Sam's head sagged a little lower. The next instant Sam was just hoping he didn't miss the target. His head dipped between his shoulders and he threw up. His muscles trembled spasmodically as he retched. There wasn't a whole lot to get rid of but damn if his body didn't try. After the initial onslaught Dean placed the can on the floor and stood, keeping one hand against Sam's chest while the other gathered his damp hair out of the way.

Sam coughed and spat into the trashcan, feeling fucking awful and _how had this day turned to such shit? _

"You done?" His brother's voice drifted above his head, grounding and soothing. He felt Dean's hand slide through his hair, gently tugging the loose strands back - once, twice – and then move down to briefly rub between his shoulder blades before planting a light pat on his back.

"Nnn…'eed to…lie down," Sam whispered hoarsely. His head was going to float right off his neck. Sam retched again at the mental image. _Running theme of the day. _He leaned his head back over, struggling with a stubborn string of saliva clinging to his bottom lip.

"In a minute," Dean assured, still with that calm monotone. "Okay, Sam. Sam? You're finished. Take it easy." Another back pat, firmer than before. Before Sam could protest Dean had already swiped his mouth with the wet cloth. "Sip some of this."

A thin ring of plastic suddenly appeared in front of Sam's nose and he eagerly pressed it to his lips. When the hell had Dean snagged an energy drink? Sam leaned his head back against the wall and gulped greedily. Blue. His favorite flavor. He drained the bottle in less than a minute.

"I said _sip_," Dean admonished, not unkindly. "Not inhale. Jesus." But he hadn't stopped him or even tried to slow Sam down.

"Thirsty," Sam replied sheepishly after he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. He was definitely feeling a little better. Still weak, but that gnawing sick sensation had faded. Nothing but a dull soreness now.

"I'll bet." Dean patted his knee then rose to clean up. He tied up the trash bag and gathered up leftovers from the first aid kit they'd raided.

"Dean?"

"Hmm," Dean hummed without turning around while he rinsed out the sink.

"Jodi. The girl," Sam glanced at the bathroom door, willing his brother to go check. "M'all right."

"Yeah," Dean sighed, finally glancing back at Sam, giving a final assessment. His eyes were red-rimmed and tired. "You sure?"

"M'sure," It was something of a chore but Sam wasn't slurring his words too horribly anymore.

"Right." Dean leaned down and slid his arm underneath Sam's shoulders. "C'mere," he grunted as he hoisted Sam off the chair and settled him down on the floor against the wall. Sam helped by planting a hand on the floor to cushion his landing.

"Can't have you crackin' your head open if you decide to visit La La Land." Dean handed Sam another bottle. Water this time. He pointed an index finger. "If that's gone by the time I get back I'll think about sticking your ass in a bed. Deal?"

Sam gave a small huff of laughter at his brother's incentive to stay awake. Dean nodded his head once, apparently satisfied and turned to leave.

"Dean?"

Dean turned his head back, looking expectantly at Sam.

"Are _you_ all right?"

He hadn't meant for the question to sound pointed...or God forbid, even all that concerned. But he needed to know. Needed to hear from his brother what was going on. Needed Dean to let him help. But with them, nothing was ever that easy. Sam braced himself, fully expecting the lie that would slide easily off Dean's lips.

"Yeah, Sammy. I'm awesome." Sam didn't miss the way Dean's hand brushed over the inside of his right forearm, self consciously pulling the sleeve down a little further. It had become something of a habit. "I'll be back in five. Stay put."

Sam watched his brother's retreating form and wearily leaned his aching head against the wall.

He sipped his water, wishing he could drown the fear.

Nope. No such luck…and now he had to pee.

_Fucking awesome._

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**_END _**

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